


The Groupie

by blithesea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Future, Future Fic, Humor, M/M, implied Harry/Ron - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 17:23:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3986485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blithesea/pseuds/blithesea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two fans of The Boy Who Lived set out on a pilgrimage to get a glimpse of their idol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Groupie

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for PS/SS. Written between Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix. 
> 
> Originally posted on April 21, 2003.
> 
> Dedicated to my sweet sister, my most beloved fan.

"Are you quite sure this is the right place?"

I know I sound more doubtful and annoyed than I actually feel, but Hal's "mission" is seriously getting on my nerves.

Our first stop in Little Whinging has been hell already. I should have quit this enterprise the moment after that fat blonde muggle chased us out of his garden with a water hose. I can understand he was miffed when Hal tried to break a shingle out of the roof as a souvenir. Still, I think his threatening to set our robes on fire was a bit of an overreaction. Though I know Hal has an unnerving effect on most people, we've always been able to avoid death threats so far.

I was more than willing and ready to fly back to school then, but Hal wouldn't hear of it. He knows exactly how to coax me into the most stupid things, it's been this way ever since I met him in our first year. "C'mon Jack, I need you! I could never pull it off alone, you know that!" He adds a bit of his hurt-little-puppy dog look, and I'm done for. See where it gets me.

Sneaking out of school, making our way all over the country just to find Him. I don't know what Hal expects to get out of this trip. An autograph on his copy of "The Boy Who Lived - "The Harry Potter Story"? First hand Quidditch tips? If I were Him, I'd slam the door right into Hal's face.

To make matters even more fun, and despite my vehement protests, Hal has insisted on going by broom. Not any broom, no. It had to be the Nimbus 2000.

"Why do we have to fly this ancient model anyway?" I grumble for the umpteenth time, though I know the answer, of course. My lower back hurts from the uncomfortable journey, and that's all Hal's fault. "Nobody in their right mind but you would mount this ramshackly old broomstick, Harry Leverson."

"Because He caught his very first Snitch on one of these, that's why," Hal gives back, trying to sound dignified while descending the grubby shaft; no mean feat, since he's almost tripping over the protruding bristles.

"Now be quiet, I don't want you to scare him away with your disrespectful and snippy comments," he orders me before approaching the cottage, practically bouncing all the way. I follow, sighing loud enough for him to hear. The things I do for my best friend.

"Godric's Hollow," Hal reads from a little sign, rolling the words in his mouth as if they were made out of chocolate. "You know that He and Ronald Weasley have restored the cottage to its exact condition before the Great War, and that it took them a period of three years, from spring '10 to the end of '12, and that they did most of the handiwork themselves, don't you?"

I pull a face. He sounds as if he memorized the facts from "Great Wizards And Their Homes". And he probably has, just like every other scrap of information he can find about his idol.

"Who gives a damn about the cottage, Hal?" I sound every bit as bored as I am. "Knock on the door already!"

He turns around and faces the door, a solemn look on his face. For a moment I'm sure that he's going to chicken out. Then he knocks on the wood, three times, hard.

Nothing stirs.

"He's not home," I say, quite relieved. However, watching Hal's face change from nervous yet giddy anticipation into a heartbreaking expression of disappointment, I regret my display of joy at the failure of the "mission". Hal looks like a kid whose parents have not only told him that Christmas will be canceled, but also that Santa's been run over by a car, and that his few remaining body parts are now rotting away some six feet under ground.

I put my arm around him. Hal's shoulders are sagging, and his expression of utter dismay makes me want to barge into the cottage and pull Him out here by his hair.

"Don't feel bad," I say and pull him a little closer. "It's probably for the best. You might have scarred the poor man for life if he'd been subjected to your fanaticism for more than a minute." A snort from Hal tells me my attempt to lighten the mood is not appreciated.

"At least you got to see the house he lives in," I offer. "Let's fly back to school now and hope our punishment won't be too grave."

I turn him around to me, but the look of determination on Hal's face makes me stop. 

"Oh no," I groan. "Please, let's just go now, without further humiliating ourselves!"

"I'm not going anywhere until I see Him," Hal replies stubbornly and twists out of my arm. 

"I know everything about this man, from the color of His favorite socks to His most preferred breakfast cereal, I can recite the speech He gave at Granger and Longbottom's wedding day, I know how many cavities He has in His teeth, and that you can practically bribe Him with butterbeer; hell, my parents even named me after Him when he won us the Great War! I flew all night just to get a glimpse of Him, and I will _not_ give up now!"

When I just stare at him, Hal angrily sticks out his chin and starts walking towards the corner of the house, apparently intending to get to the back.

"He's probably just asleep," I hear him mumble, as I follow. "Maybe if I threw little stones at the glass of His bedroom window..."

By now I sincerely hope Potter's really not home, or a very deep sleeper. I don't really know how the man who defeated the Dark Lord would react if someone woke him up in the middle of the night to ask for an autograph, but I do know that I could live very happily without ever finding out.

"For crying out loud, Hal, you don't even know which one's his bedroom," I hiss, desperately trying not to make too much noise. I needn't have bothered, though, because Hal makes enough ruckus for the two of us. My heart starts to pound heavier in my chest. At this rate, Hal is going to have us arrested, or stupefied, or both, within the next ten minutes.

To my surprise, he actually stops looking for little stones lying on the ground and looks at me for a moment, pondering.

"You're right," he says slowly. "I don't know which one's his bedroom window."

The relief that washes through me lasts only for a minute. Then Hal gives the drainpipe a critical look. "I'd better climb up and have a look first."

"Bloody hell," I groan and make a dive for him, but the distance between us is too wide, and he's already half up there by the time I reach the drainpipe. Cursing my friend's agility, I try to think of a spell to get him down again, and fast. None comes to my mind, though.

I try to reason, though I know rather well that this is a futile attempt when Hal has that mad glitter in his eyes. "Hal, for Pete's sake, come down here! Don't make it any worse, you stupid git!"

"Almost there," Hal grunts through clenched teeth, and stretches towards the nearest window to catch a glimpse of what's inside. Just as he is leaning over to look, the drainpipe gives a sigh, and virtually crumbles apart beneath Hal. The only thing I hear from him is a startled yelp before he hits the ground with a heavy thud.

"Hal!" I run over to him quickly. He doesn't open his eyes when I crouch next to him and touch his cheek, and his face is grey like ashes.

"What the hell's going on down there?!?"

I look up to the sight of a two men in their mid-thirties, one dark, one red-headed, their hair still mussed from sleep but their eyes widely alert, leaning out of a window from the second floor. 

Now I really wish I had a few pints of butterbeer with me.

~~~~~

"I hate you," Hal says sullenly. 

I take one of the sandwiches the nurse left at his bedside, and stare at him. "I hate you more." 

He scowls at me, but I return his gaze grimly.

"You act like a complete idiot, like always, and this time you nearly get yourself killed, and I'm the one stuck in the muck again!" I snap at him. "Not only did I have to explain to Potter and Weasley what the hell you were doing climbing their drainpipe, I also had to take all of the detention on my cap because you were out cold all week, and I had a _really_ hard time convincing Potter to sign your stupid Nimbus 2000 while my father tried to prevent the headmaster from expelling us, twerp! So take your broomstick and shut up about it already!"

Hal still grumbles something, then sighs. "You could have taken a picture, you know."

"Marvelous idea," I say and roll my eyes. "Considering that he probably thinks we are the most annoying and dimwitted fans he has, I'm sure he would have volunteered to pose!"

We just frown at each other then. When the nurse tells me it's time to leave, I stand up and make my way to the door. Before I can leave, however, Hal calls me back.

"I'm sorry I got you in trouble," he says, and drops his gaze to the ground. I nod at him. Hal doesn't say anything else, so I turn to leave.

"Jack?"

I raise my eyebrows at him. "What?"

"What was he like?" Hal asks, and I can't help but smile at the child-like enthusiasm which already has started to show up in his face again.

"Shorter than I thought," I answer with a grin. "Good night."

Once I have shut his door firmly behind me, I sit down on one of the big windowsills and pull the picture out of my pocket. On it, tall Ronald Weasley grins and waves, his arm around my shoulders, while I'm blushing almost as red as his hair.

There are some things Hal doesn't need to know.


End file.
